


Where Did You Leave To?

by PurellGoddess



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-19
Updated: 2013-09-19
Packaged: 2017-12-27 01:18:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/972636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurellGoddess/pseuds/PurellGoddess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock were together until the end. Now that the end has passed, John mourns his beloved detective through his blog.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where Did You Leave To?

Assholes piss me off. Of course, assholes piss many people off, or else they wouldn't be assholes, but the fact that a human being could be so ignorant that they make judgements without knowing half the story makes my skin crawl. You must be thinking that this was caused by some singular idiotic person, but no. I have been wrongfully judged and treated all my life. From being harassed by my sister -who was younger than me, which just stings more- to being bullied by my fellow soldier- while we were at war, no less- I have been to hell and back multiple times. I didn't even have a real friend until Uni, when I met Stamford, and we grew apart much faster than it took for us to become friends. Initially, I joined the army to escape my pitiful life. Afghanistan was treacherous, dangerous and wonderful. I didn't have time to think about the little insignificancies. Being in the moment meant the difference between life and death. Everything was going great. Then I got shot.  
5 weeks of rehabilitation later and a plane trip out of the war zone, I found myself broke, homeless and friendless in a city I used to know. It was by the luckiest chance ever that I met Stamford that day. And an even luckier chance that Stamford had spoken with him earlier. A whirlwind of lucky chances and lots of running later, I found myself sharing a flat with the smartest man in the world. He was so full of potential, so guarded, so lonely, but also so unreachable. He desperately was in need of a friend and social skills. He couldn't meet someone new without showing off and ruining any chances of partnership. On some quiet nights when there were no present mysteries and we had time to ourselves, I would draw out of him some emotion. He would get a sort of pull at the edges of his lips and his eyes would shine. Then he would pull back again and deflect the subject to something else. I never saw any more emotion than this until he met Irene Adler. She was one of the assholes I have spoken so highly of before. She lured him into his trap, broke his heart, then reappeared to only break his heart again. Not to mention what she suggested about his and my relationship. Anyways, after she finally fled and supposedly died- that woman could probably even worn her way out of death- life was back to normal.  
When we travelled to Dartmoor for the Baskerville case, I thought it was just another job. However, when he and Henry wandered into that mist and he began talking as he never had before... I knew something was wrong. He was so afraid. I thought I'd never see a man more afraid then he was then. Unfortunately, I was wrong. As his fame grew, I became more worried about him. I could say that I was afraid his ego had grown so much that he would get careless, but it was more than that. I knew that the quicker the spark becomes a fire, the more damage it can cause. I was so worried for him, so protective. Someday, I feared, someone would slander his name and destroy him. Oh, how prophetic I was. As he slipped into the trap laid for him, Moriarty, the biggest asshole of all time, pulled apart his reputation bit by bit. Soon, the greatest man in England had been reduced to a petty fugitive. It was hell for me; I can't even think of what he was going through. No, that's wrong. I knew what he was going through because I could feel it, radiating from his hunched and closed off body. He was hiding from me again, but I could see him. I could always see him.  
And I certainly saw him up there, on the roof. I knew something was wrong, even before, how he wasn't reacting when I heard that Mrs Hudson was "dying". I was so foolish and full of resentment. I was angry at him for dragging me into this... What I regret more than anything is that I was disappointed with him. That I doubted him. I... hate myself for it everyday. That I didn't reach out to him the last time I could. On that roof, he had this tremble in his voice... I had never heard a man so afraid before. So lonely. So broken. He was there... and then he was gone.  
Then the press picked it up and things got worse. I couldn't bear it; them using his name to describe a fall, a disaster. All of them, assholes. And I, the broken one. And that, my dear reader, is why I hate assholes. They have taken everything from me: my dignity, my faith, and the greatest man in my life, my best friend, my... other half in the most platonic way. I saw him. I always saw him. And I can still see him.  
-JW


End file.
